Deflated

I remember it was a Tuesday when I awoke to feel that something had changed. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But I felt different, I didn’t know how. I looked in the mirror, then looked again in disbelief. My face wasn’t looking back at me! No beard and moustache, no kindly blue eyes (or so I thought), no curly blond hair. Instead, I could see the reflection of the wall behind me.

What was going on? Was this some kind of practical joke? On impulse, I picked up my alarm clock and held it up in front of the mirror. There it was, ticking away, suspended in mid-air!

Now I remembered going to bed, thinking how good it would be to go over the road and round the back of Samantha Brown’s house and maybe catch her through a window in a state of undress. Perhaps even completely naked! I often saw her strutting about, scantily dressed and had seen the possibility. She had no dog, nor seemingly a husband or lover, despite her generous assets, of which any man, I thought, would wish to get to grips with. Certainly, I’d have been first in the queue, given half a chance.

So, there I was, invisible. I could go anywhere and do anything, without anyone seeing me. Whoopee! But then reality began to sink in. First, I had to phone work to cry off sick, and I’d have to find some way of becoming visible again, at some stage anyway. So, I phoned my boss after sniffing some pepper and excused myself for the week.

Now to have some fun. I went outside, but it was really quite cold. I wished I could put on a pair of thick trousers and a chunky pullover, but that would give the game away.
It felt very naughty, walking around in the nude, as I passed two ladies waiting at the bus stop.

“What you doin’ tonight?” I heard one say.

“What, me, well, I fancy a new man, you know, like a toy boy lover. A lad who could go all night. Know what I mean?”

They both began to laugh like hyenas.

I wasn’t sure if I was blushing but quickened my pace. Then I came to the corner shop. Mr Singh was behind the counter in his turban, nodding and smiling at old Cyril Mountain. I went in and listened to the non-conversation whilst eyeing up the chocolate bars. How I wanted to reach out and just take one, no one would see me, but they’d see a bar of Cadbury’s Fruit & Nut lifting into the air, and then where would that leave me?

Then I heard a sound that filled my heart with fear. The ‘woof’ of a dog. Sure enough, I could see Mrs Suggs coming along with her huge Irish Wolfhound. I could already sense its recognition of a man’s scent. A man who wasn’t there, in the visible sense. A non-man who was therefore a threat. Part of my anatomy began to ache in a very unpleasant way. I made an instant decision. Run.

Breathless, I reached the park. Kiddies were sailing small boats at the edge of the lake. I was growing accustomed to the cold now and, anyway, no one could see my goose pimples, so I went to watch them. How nice to observe children enjoying innocent fun. Then I felt a sense of panic. What if my invisibility wore off? What would people think of a naked man lurking around young children in a park? I eyed a couple of beefy fathers standing nearby. Likely, they wouldn’t think twice about punching me into oblivion. Once more, I made myself scarce.

This invisibility lark wasn’t anything like as much fun as I’d expected. I made my way along the cold pavement back home. Treading on something smelly and squishy en route. As I reached my gate, I looked across the road and, blow me, there in an upstairs window was Samantha Brown. Samantha Brown’s bare back heading away from the window, perhaps towards a door?

There was a passageway between her house and the next and I quickly walked along it. At the end was a gate with a simple catch. No one was in sight, so I opened it and slipped through, closing it quietly behind me. I walked across a small lawn, feeling the soft grass under the soles of my feet, and gazed up at the rear windows.

Samantha appeared at one, and what was more she was wearing nothing but a bra, amply filled. She began lifting her arms up and disappearing downwards, presumably going down on her knees, then back up again. Obviously, some kind of exercise, which she kept up for several thrilling minutes. Then, perhaps as she was getting too hot, but, oh joy, she suddenly reached down and pulled her bra off. I stood, gaping, feeling like a schoolboy who reaches into his lunchbox to find his mother has packed a ginger biscuit, where all the other boys have Mars bars. Her chest was almost completely flat. It was all in the padding, as someone no doubt once said. Pfft. What a swizz!

I crossed the road to my house and let myself in. I hadn’t locked the door. Once indoors, I looked in the hall mirror and was astonished to see a pair of eyebrows looking back, then the tip of a nose, then two earlobes. Gradually my face and body began to reappear. I grabbed some underpants, jeans, a shirt, and a thick pullover and gratefully put them on. I went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Then I went back to the mirror. Thank God, my face was still there. I gave a big grin and two thumbs up. I didn’t know why I’d become invisible, but I hoped it wouldn’t happen again. Harry Potter might have had a lark with his invisibility cloak, but then he got to keep his clothes on!

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